


don't let me ruin me (I may need a chaperone)

by Anonymous



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Play, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Max the dog makes a key appearance, Non-Sexual Age Play, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Kink, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-17 10:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11849868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "He was familiar enough with the angry grunts and the growls of frustration that the Daredevil made to be fooled by his silent stoicism now. Get the kid even slightly emotional and he forgot himself— despite those years of training he didn’t like to talk about, despite the catholic martyr in him and the way he was surely brought up with a boxer for a father, he was never truly as in control of himself as he let people think. As he wanted to be.Frank couldn't help but envy that softness in a way."For a kinkmeme prompt asking for accidental age play.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Non-Defenders compliant, either Defenders didn’t happen or it did and this is a handwavy period in the future where Matt decided he prefers to be on his own, decide as you wish. This isn't really Matt/Frank as like, a ship, but you could definitely read it that way if you want. There isn't going to be anything sexual between them though.
> 
> I've never written anything like this before, but the prompt [here](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/8773.html?thread=17835845#cmt17835845) for accidental ageplay was so interesting to me I just had to write it. This first part is a slow and meandering thing that mostly takes place in Frank's head, but i promise there's more age play to come. I hope you enjoy what I have so far

They’ve worked together just a few more times than Frank can count by now. They aren’t _friends_ , or even partners by any means, but when either of them was in a pinch and needed some back up, well. Usually they were fighting the same guys anyways. Red still wasn’t giving up his one-man crusade to find Frank's— humanity, or something, but that was fine, the leftover ringing in his ears from the accident usually blocked him out.

The situation was this: during a mission that had lasted three days too many, at a time early enough that even Frank was struggling a little without his coffee, the both of them stumbled into an empty building that functioned as Frank’s latest home away from home, woozy with exhaustion. Most times, they split after a fight with barely more than a nod in each other’s direction, but every so often circumstances lead them both back to wherever Frank was housed. Red’s place was off limits, and that was fine. Frank let him pretend to keep his two lives separate to spare them both the grief of that conversation.

“Sit on the bed,” Frank said, closing the door behind them. Though relatively unscathed as far as injuries go, Red had a slice on his calf just bad enough that in the likely event that he tried to leave it unstitched and untreated it would scar pretty bad even if it didn’t become infected. For obvious reasons Red seemed not to care much about the dozens of scars that littered his body, but the idea that he could never wear anything less than a full suit in his poor attempts at a normal life made Frank feel some kind of way that he’d rather not examine too closely. Red limped over to the double mattress shoved into a corner that functioned as Frank’s bed, and collapsed onto it with little to none of his usual grace. Noticing the presence of someone not-Frank, Max lumbered over from where he’d been sleeping on a pile of blankets and what looked to be two or three of Frank’s shirts, ears back and belly low with excitement.

“Hey buddy,” Red said quietly, patting the dogs side and scratching behind his ears a few times before taking the toy offered to him; a half-chewed teddy that Frank had picked up on his most recent first-aid run along with some other generic items to avoid suspicion. That most of the items were dog-related was neither here nor there. Frank watched Red try and fail to play fetch with Max as he prepared what he needed to stitch him up, finally having sympathy on him as he sat down at the foot of the mattress.

“He doesn’t play fetch,” Frank said, watching Max try and settle over Red’s lap with the bear still in his mouth. “Only dog I ever met that wants you to _keep_ the toy, damned thing.” Red huffed a laugh, pushing gently at the dog’s body until he was on the floor rather than on top of him. Then he took the proffered toy and set it carefully on the mattress beside him.

“C’mon, let me see your leg,” Frank said after a moment.

Red nodded, reaching for some hidden zip on his back to unfasten his suit, pulling the armoured top over his head then shuffling his pants down to his knees. The left leg came off easy, along with his boot, then he gestured at the cut on his right, still oozing a little. “You gonna help me?”

“Such a princess,” Frank grumbled, but set about getting off his boot anyway. He ignored Red’s wince as he tugged the material away from the cut where it had dried at the edges. “Next thing I know I’ll be tying your laces before we go out.” The pause after he said it was just long enough for Frank to look up from where he was examining the wound, but Red’s face betrayed nothing other than the exhaustion that Frank was feeling himself. He internally shrugged and got to work. Neither of them were exactly conversationalists at the best of times (ironic, considering Red's day job), but Red got close to non-verbal as he crashed after a fight, especially one that lasted as long as this one had.

Frank didn't really mind. He shoved a pillow under the leg and focused on using the little light available to stitch Red up as neatly as he could, thankful that his hands were steady despite his own exhaustion. The room was quiet besides the sounds of Frank working, and soft huffs from Max’s direction as he fell back asleep under Red’s steady petting. Red barely made a sound. Not that it was unusual, he rarely did when in pain, but Frank thought back to the fights earlier, to the many times they had interacted in the past. Red wasn’t naturally quiet when hurt, Frank didn’t think. He was familiar enough with the angry grunts and the growls of frustration that the Daredevil made to be fooled by his silent stoicism now. Get the kid even slightly emotional and he forgot himself— despite those years of training he didn’t like to talk about, despite the catholic martyr in him and the way he was surely brought up with a boxer for a father, he was never truly as in control of himself as he let people think. As he _wanted_ to be.

Frank couldn’t help but envy that softness in a way. It was likely a source of much self-hatred for Red, but for Frank, the ability to let go of the iron-control he had on his emotions was the cause of a lot of arguments between him and Maria. Story as old as time was that of the distant father that couldn’t express his emotions, and he tried his damnedest not to be that to the kids, but it had been a work in progress. Not that it mattered now.

“Alright, that should do it,” Frank said eventually, finishing taping the bandage to his leg. He started to pack away the first aid kit, but paused when he looked up at Red, who at some point had apparently fallen asleep. His chin was resting on his chest, his body listing to the side even as one hand still rested protectively on Max’s head. He’d apparently been fiddling with the teddy as he’d fallen asleep, because his left hand was curled around the bear on his lap, clutching it to his stomach. Frank stared for a while, taking in the way Red’s hair stuck up in places from the removal of his helmet, the little red dents left behind on his cheekbones, and the tiniest of frowns that Frank had the urge to smooth away with his thumb. Strange, Frank didn’t think he’d done anything like that since before his— since before. Usually these days if he was touching someone it was with the intention of violence. And yet here he was watching the devil of hell’s kitchen nap in only his boxers and undershirt in Frank’s bed, having just carefully stitched him up with nary a complaint.

It wasn’t even the first time Red had slept in his bed, was the thing. They’d fought together enough times by now that he’d had to give up his mattress to a heavily injured or concussed (or drugged that one time they both tried to forget about) Red on too many occasions. The kid was honestly a danger magnet even outside of his tendency to run headlong into fights without a thought for his own self-preservation. No wonder Karen and the other lawyer had been getting stress ulcers over him. Caring about Matthew Murdock couldn’t be easy.

Frank continued watching him sleep for a little while longer, pushing down the upturn of his mouth that threatened whenever Red’s grip shifted on the teddy, fingers petting and seeking out the soft fur even in sleep. Frank had noticed his inclination towards soft things by now, so it wasn’t that surprising really. A little more surprising was that somewhere along the way, without his knowledge, they had fostered something like trust between them, enough of it that Red felt he could let his guard down so significantly in front of Frank, which was no small thing. He didn’t know how to feel about that.

It was late— or early now, if the weak light filtering through the cracks in the single boarded up window were any indication, and Frank really needed to catch up on the sleep he hadn’t got for a good week now. Levering himself up from the floor and feeling every rotten year his age while he did it, Frank gathered up the first aid kit and set it on the desk by his guns, ready to be taken apart and cleaned later. Too tired to do much else, he shucked off his shoes and jeans, changed his shirt to something a little less blood-stained (though smelling a little more of dog), and moved back over to the mattress.

Frank grabbed Red’s good leg in one hand and his waist in the other, careful at first, but when it seemed he wasn’t likely to wake easy, tugged at him until he was horizontal instead of curled up against the wall. The hand that was on Max moved to curl against his chest with the other one, grip on the bear still something just shy of white-knuckled. He tried to curl up in a ball, knees to chest like Frank knew he usually slept, but the pain in his calf must have stopped him, because he let out a few wounded sounds in the back of his throat before settling down still on his back. Once Frank was sure that Red was done moving about, he checked the locks and the police scanner one last time before throwing his blanket over Red and finally, _finally_ letting himself collapse face down on empty space next to him. His dreams were more memories than anything, hazy and light-filled, and when he woke he didn’t remember them.

That was the start of it all. The beginning, though, is another story.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The thing about change is that it crept up on you."
> 
> Frank is introspective. Matt is hurt (when isn't he). I misappropriate Frank's use of 'sunshine'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you so much for all the lovely comments I've gotten on the first chapter! I appreciate them so, _so_ much, especially with something like this which I've never written before (both age play and Frank are new to me haha). I agree that there is a lack of this sort of stuff in this fandom, and especially with these two, I think it's quite a niche interest! So I'm happy that I can make you guys happy by giving you something that's sort of a rarity. 
> 
> I hope this next chapter is okay, I really went with the whole accidental/'they don't realise as it's happening' thing. :)

The thing about change is that it crept up on you. One minute you were one thing, with memories and relationships and ideas about the world, then the next thing you knew, a year or five had passed and you didn’t quite recognise your face in the mirror any more. And then it happened all over again. Frank hadn’t much changed deep down in his core over the years, he was a grumpy bastard with a black and white view of the world at heart, but his family had tempered that. Maria’s soft curls and the way she’d steal kisses right on the edge of sleep; junior’s little hands rubbing at the stubble on his freshly shaved head; Lisa’s absolute adamance that he read her at least eight stories before she’d sleep.

Together, his family had pushed and shoved him into something resembling a good person, a _happy_ person. But in the end, all it meant was that the vacuum they left behind in Frank was that much more painful.

“Frank? You want some coffee?”

And there was the goddamn rub: somewhere along the line Frank had let a stubborn, overemotional, fucked up choir boy get under his skin and start inhabiting that vacuum. Maybe sanding down his broken edges. He took in Red’s relaxed posture, the two mugs he already had ready to go, the soft socks he was wearing and the shirt that was most likely Frank’s, just a little too big. He wasn’t sure Red had even given a reason to be here this time, not even the thin excuse of _I’m tired, my apartment is far Frank, c’mon_.

“Frank?” Red asked, his head tilted in question. Frank scratched at the scars on his head and sighed.

“Sure thing, sunshine.”

-

And that was another thing. When had those nicknames started sounding so goddamn _fond_.

-

So maybe that was the beginning. Or maybe it was this: the tenth, the first, the fiftieth time Red had gotten hurt in a fight, when Frank barely bat an eyelid any more-- as long as Red got back up on his feet, that was all that mattered. Frank carried on doing his thing, Red did the same, and they would patch up whatever injuries Red had accumulated once they were in the clear. Except, as a lesson in déjà vu: one guy got in a cheap shot, and there was Red with an eye lense broken and a crack that sliced through one of his little horns. Red clearly blacked out for a second if the way he fell like a ragdoll was any indication, but Frank provided cover for the twenty seconds he was down, and once he was back up again he seemed to be able to hold his own.

So Frank filed it away as a later-problem, and re-focused on his own targets. Only, when Frank finally turned back to Red, blood spattered and breathing heavy, Frank had to admit that he’d maybe made a bad call. He had managed to take out most of the men, but there was still one on his feet, giving Red more trouble than he should have been.

“Red!” Frank called, catching his attention. Red paused for just long enough that Frank could get a clean shot on the guy, straight between his eyes. It was messy, but Frank took what he could get. He found himself maybe regretting it a little when the spray of blood hit Red though, apparently startled enough to slip and fall to his knees. He must have taken a harder hit than Frank thought, because the next thing he knew the kid was scrambling around on the floor, hands sliding through the blood like he was searching for something, chest heaving with panicked breaths.

Frank finally realised what was happening when Red’s hands ended up on the dead guy’s face, ghosting over the gunshot wound with more tenderness than the man deserved. Except it wasn’t some random thug Red was seeing in his head, was it? Frank remembered the little pieces of information Red had given him over the years, offerings of trust in exchange for Frank’s own history. So Frank knew exactly where Red’s brain was at right now. The police sirens heading their way didn’t bode well either.

“Hey, Red.” No reaction, because of course this couldn’t be easy. “Matthew. Hey, c’mon Matt, don’t make this difficult.” But Red didn’t respond, only carried on holding onto a man he thought was his father, mumbling a steady stream of _please dad, daddy, please daddy, daddy!_ that Frank was doing his very best to ignore, for his own sake more than anything, but he was sure Red was going to feel awful about this when all was said and done. Right now they needed to get out before the cops came though, so he braced himself for any punches or kicks aimed his way, and manhandled Red up off the floor and into his arms. Red startled, aiming a few half-hearted punches at Frank’s chest, but in the end he was either too confused or too tired or both to fight back, so instead played possum, going dead weight in Frank’s arms. The only reason he knew that Red was still awake was the way his breath was still coming quick and light in his panic.

Frank cast a quick glance around to check there was nothing left behind to incriminate them, then set off in the direction of one of his nearest hideouts. He thanked the gods he didn’t believe in that Red wasn’t putting up any sort of fight, because the weight of him, plus his armour and Frank’s guns was more than enough to make the trek back a difficult slog. The couple of other times he’d had to drag Red out of a fight he’d just thrown the kid over his shoulder, but even Frank knew that probably wouldn’t go well when he had a head injury. So he sucked it up and pushed forward.

-

After settling Red down on his bed (with an actual frame this time, a rare treat) and wrestling him out of the suit, Frank set about figuring out how bad he’d got hit. He checked the wound— not actually bad enough to need stitches, and managed to get enough of a reaction from Red to discern that while the concussion was bad enough that it had set off a flashback, or whatever it was that got Red in such a state, it wasn’t quite so bad as the one that Frank had given him way back when. Red had told him since how bad the hit had been, how long he’d been passed out for and the deafness that had chased him still days later. Frank didn’t know whether to thank Red’s tailor or his hard skull for the fact that he managed to survive so many hits to the head. He wasn’t sure why he would be thanking anyone to begin with.

The rest of the night passed quietly. Max was dozing at the foot of the bed, apparently having set his guard-dog life well behind him, and Red didn’t make more than a few quiet whimpers when Frank cleaned the wound on his forehead. Frank had seen enough soldiers suffering with PTSD in his time to get the gist of what was going on with Red. Waiting it out was their best option. At least it seemed he was no longer re-experiencing his father’s death— Frank knew from experience that traumatic memories were never fun.

After some time passed where Frank cleaned his guns and Red stared at nothing and rocked a little back and forth, Frank noticed Red’s hands come up to rub at his arms.

“You cold, Red?” Frank asked. Not really expecting a response, he was surprised when Red nodded. Brain back in at least semi-working order then. Frank set the rifle he was cleaning down and grabbed a sweatshirt and some pyjama pants for Red to wear. It didn’t take long for him to realise that he was going to have to do the work here: Red may have been coming back online, but he was taking his sweet time about it.

“Okay Sunshine, arms up.”

It didn’t take much effort to get Red clothed, limp and easily pliable as he was right now. Then Frank pushed him down against the mattress, throwing a couple of blankets over him for good measure.

“Get some sleep. I’ll be checking on you in a few hours.”

In answer, Red curled himself up in a tight ball, barely visible beneath the blankets but for the tufts of his hair. Frank thought he heard a hoarse _thanks_ muffled through the material, but he couldn’t be certain.

Sitting himself back down in front of his guns with a sigh, Frank wondered for the thousandth time if Red was his penance for all the shit he’d done.

-

But who was Frank kidding, there were half-a-dozen potential beginnings to this nameless thing between them. It could have been when Frank had been restocking his supplies and without thinking grabbed some fluffy looking socks he knew Red favoured, or the time after when he’d seen a soft looking rabbit toy and bought it under the pretence of giving it to Max, knowing full well Red would be too busy running his fingers gently over the soft fur to even remember to give it to the dog. Not that Max cared, spoilt as he was whenever Red was around— something that was happening with more and more frequency.

-

It could have been the time that Red had fallen asleep pressed up against Frank’s side while Frank read up on his newest target, not even trying to find an excuse for it anymore. Maybe it was a few hours later when Frank woke up from his own unintended nap and found his arm curled protectively around Red’s shoulders as he slept against Frank’s chest, the material of Frank’s shirt bunched between his fists. He didn’t even try to fight the urge that time, reaching up with his free hand to press his thumb to the frown line, stroking over Red’s eyebrow like he could iron it out. Satisfied when his face smoothed out, Frank sat for a little longer with his hand cupping Red’s cheek, his finger-tips just brushing Red’s hair.

 _Yeah_ , Frank thought, _that was probably it._


End file.
